


strawberries taste how lips do

by giantteenwolforgy



Series: Gimme All Your Lovin' [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Craft Fair, Fluff, M/M, The Hales have a pie booth, There's jam, UST, derek wants to lick jam off of stiles, pure fluff, we all want to lick jam off of stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1432381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giantteenwolforgy/pseuds/giantteenwolforgy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He goes for the pies. Mainly. </p><p>And if Derek Hale happens to be there in all of his sinful glory, well, he's not going to complain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strawberries taste how lips do

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [strawberries taste how lips do](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1840450) by [meanwhile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanwhile/pseuds/meanwhile)



> So this story was written for [this tumblr prompt](http://swingsetindecember.tumblr.com/post/70196081405/the-hales-always-have-a-table-of-pies-at-the) from [swingsetindecember](http://swingsetindecember.tumblr.com)
> 
> An anon requested this to be posted, so here we are! :) It's a TINY bit different from the one posted on my tumblr, just because I tweaked a minor part. The title came from Little Bird by Ed Sheeran. Hope you enjoy! xo

Stiles goes for the pies.

The _pies_ , okay?

He absolutely does not go because the sight of Derek Hale wearing an apron and holding out a sampling spoon makes him want to sink to his knees and wrap his mouth around the spoon while Derek’s still holding it; makes him want to let his tongue graze against his fingers and make Derek’s breath catch in his throat—

He goes for the pies. Mainly.

And if Derek Hale happens to be there in all of his sinful glory, well, he’s not going to complain.

***

"Stiles stopped by while you were at Isaac’s scarf booth," Cora says blandly.

Derek trips over nothing. He hears someone (probably Laura) snicker behind him.

"Oh." His voice sounds too high even to his own ears, his shoulders too tense. "Yeah. That’s—good."

It’s not.

He violently twists off the cap of the strawberry jam, cursing Isaac and his stupid fucking scarves, and Laura sighs. “Relax, Lover-Boy. As soon as he saw you weren’t here, he ‘ _forgot_ ' what kind of pie he was going to buy. He'll be back in a little bit.”

"Oh," Derek says again and if his sisters notice how visibly he relaxes, they don’t say anything. "That sounds like something Stiles would do."

"Because he’s pathetic?" Cora asks dryly.

"No," Derek says immediately, glaring at her over his shoulder.

"Oh sorry. I must have gotten him confused with you."

"I’m not _pathetic_ —”

"Derek, you go to the library every week and pretend you can’t understand the Dewey Decimal System so you have an excuse to talk to him."

"Oh my god, is _that_ why you have a library card now?” Laura demands and Derek pointedly ignores her in favor of rearranging the pies.

***

Stiles only stumbles once on his way back to the Hales’ booth.

It’s actually kind of a miracle he doesn’t just drop dead right in the middle of the craft fair because his heart is pumping two times too fast and he can’t really feel his fingers.

Because of the pie, obviously.

He’s excited to buy the pie.

Derek looks up when he’s ten feet away, and, fuck, okay it might not be about the pies at all. Even though they’re delicious, they aren’t nearly as good as making eye contact—actually _maintaining_ eye contact—with six-foot-two sex god and part-time baker Derek Hale.

He’s seriously every wet dream Stiles has ever had rolled up into one devastatingly perfect human being.

And he’s currently looking directly at Stiles.

Stiles is actually kind of afraid that Derek’s going to realize who he’s staring at and turn away, but he doesn’t. His fingers still on the jar he’s messing with, and they just _look_ at each other until Stiles is standing right in front of him and struggling to think of something to say.

"Hey Derek," he finally chokes out awkwardly, and his voice is what makes Derek’s eyes flicker away.

"Hi."

Laura and Cora sidle up on either side of their brother and give him equally terrifying grins.

"Hi Stiles," Laura says sweetly. Too sweetly. Stiles shoots them both a suspicious look and Cora’s grin widens. "Isn’t it odd how you magically remembered what pie you wanted to buy a minute after Derek returned?"

And, holy shit, really? Are they really about to call him out on his horribly obvious and unrequited crush on their brother?

"Yeah," he hisses out, teeth bared. " _Odd_. Thanks for pointing that out.”

"You’re welcome."

Stiles can feel his cheeks flushing a ruddy color, but when he chances a glance at Derek, he’s staring at Stiles blankly, looking like he hasn’t even heard a word they’ve said. _Thank God_.

"So," Stiles says, clapping his hands together, and Derek starts slightly and clears his throat.

"Right. Pies. Do you know which one you want?"

Stiles is tempted to ask him what they have available, just to hear him speak more than a few words, but Cora is already rolling her eyes from behind Derek’s back, so:

"Yeah, I want a pecan pie this year, my dad—"

"Uh," Derek interrupts suddenly, fingers twisting around his apron tie. "I. We didn’t make any pecan pies this year."

"But you always have pecan pie."

"Not this year," he says, teeth catching on his bottom lip. 

 

"But..." Stiles is having a hard time focusing on anything besides the scene playing out in his head where Derek is dragging him over the pie table and biting _his_ lip instead. He shakes his head. "But you--"

"We went with all fruit. This time. I don't know--"

"What?" This is the first time in the history of their business together that this has happened. Stiles is kind of shocked (and also kind of horrified at how _cute_ Derek looks when he’s panicking).

"I can—I can make you one. Yeah," he decides, "I’ll make you one."

"No—"

"I can bring it to you tomorrow. Unless you need it sooner? I can go make it right now, Laura and Cora can handle the booth—"

“ _Derek_." Stiles huffs out a laugh. "It’s fine. Jeez, thank you. But seriously, it’s not a big deal; I’ll just take…uh, do you have that cinnamon apple pie?"

"With the sugar glaze? Yeah, yeah, right here." Derek boxes it up in record time, hands it over to him, and Stiles swallows hard as their fingers slide against each other. Laura makes a gagging noise that Stiles pretends not to hear.

"How much do I owe you? Ten?"

"Don’t worry about it," Derek says.

"Uhm—"

 _That’s_ never happened in the history of their business together either.

"We didn’t have the pecan pie." He looks sheepish and the tips of his ears are glowing pink. Stiles wants to date him _so hard_. "It’s the least I can do."

Cora snorts.

"Wow. If you gave me free pies more often, I might come around more often."

Derek’s head snaps up, eyes locking on Stiles. He sounds strangely vulnerable when he says: “I’ll give you free pies whenever you want.”

"Wha— _really_?”

Derek nods once and his cheeks are slowly darkening to match his ears. Stiles doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know if he meant it like _that_ , and he almost crushes the pie box in his casual attempt to steady himself with the table.

"Do you want to taste some jam?" Derek asks hesitantly after a moment, eyes still fixed on Stiles’s.

"Always," he breathes out.

Cora groans and bashes her head against Laura’s shoulder. “I’m going to throw up.”

***

Derek is either in heaven or hell.

He can’t decide which.

Stiles’s eyes roll back in his head as he sucks on the spoonful of blackberry jam and Derek clenches the table edge so hard his knuckles turn white.

"Oh, dude," he groans. "This is _so_ good. I swear, your jams get better every year.”

Derek nods stiffly, trying not to think about the fact that Stiles now has blackberry jam on the corner of his mouth (to match the smudges of strawberry and grape on his cheek) and Derek just wants to _lick_.

He wants to lick _all over_ him—make him writhe and gasp and beg—and fuck. He should not be getting turned on at the sight of someone eating _jam_ but he _is_.

This is so bad.

Stiles’s cheeks are red from the cold, his mouth is hanging slightly open, and Derek can’t breathe anymore.

Laura’s laughing in the background again.

"Raspberry," Derek finally manages to choke out, gaze lingering on the curve of his bottom lip three beats too long.

Stiles swallows heavily.

Derek thrusts another spoon at him and avoids his eyes. “Try the raspberry jam.”

He’s staring at the red checkered tablecloth, determined not to get distracted by the sight of Stiles, but he can still hear the slick sounds of Stiles’s tongue working and then—

Stiles _moans_.

It’s loud and languorous and such a pornographic noise that Cora chokes on something and Derek knocks one of the jars off the table and onto the ground.

It hits the hard ground with a _thunk_ and rolls.

"Fuck," he curses, and Stiles eyes snap open. "Sorry. Uh. The jar fell somewhere under the table."

"I’ll get it," Stiles says, even though Derek’s already on his way to kneeling, and they start to crawl under the table at the same time.

The atmosphere under the table is completely different; everything’s dim and muted and Stiles is only inches away.

Derek’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes darting between Stiles’s eyes and his mouth and those goddamned jam smears. It shouldn’t even be possible to get that much jam on your face, and yet Stiles does it every year. And every year it drives Derek crazy.

"Uhm," Stiles says shakily. "Do you see the jar?"

"No," Derek murmurs, trying and failing to tear his gaze away from him. "Do you?"

"No."

Derek licks his lips unconsciously and all the breath seems to punch out of Stiles at once.

Their eyes lock again.

"You have some…jam…" Derek gestures vaguely to the corner of his mouth.

"What?" Stiles asks, voice low and rough.

Derek’s cock jerks in his pants and he leans forward helplessly, heart pounding wildly in his chest. “On your. It’s on your mouth.”

Stiles whines softly and Derek can’t handle it anymore.

Their noses knock together, hot breath washing over each other’s faces, and then Derek’s lips are against his and Stiles makes a broken sound, one hand scrabbling up to latch onto the back of Derek’s neck.

His tongue moves without his permission, licking against the seam of Stiles’s lips until he tastes jam, and Stiles opens his mouth and curls his tongue around Derek’s with this desperate sort of abandon that makes Derek think he might have wanted this for as long as he has. It’s slick and hot and perfect and they’re both panting into each other’s mouths; Derek can feel the cold ground through the knees of his jeans but he doesn’t want to stop kissing, doesn’t want to _ever_ stop kissing.

Stiles groans softly, and Derek pulls away to trail kisses to his ear. “Go out with me?” he breathes heavily. “I’ll—”

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles is already saying, cutting him off with onetwothree more kisses before Derek can even offer to make him pies whenever he wants. “Yes.”

(The noise Stiles makes when Derek darts forward to lick the strawberry jam off of his cheek drowns out the faint retching sounds coming from his sisters.)


End file.
